TL;DR
- ‘Work To Do’ explores queer dynamics in a co-op setting.
- Characters face love, loneliness, and capitalist struggles.
- The novel critiques community-centric businesses.
- Honesty and connection are central themes.
- A love letter to Austin and found family.
When I lived in Austin, Texas, those rare afternoons when the sun wasn’t a bullet aimed right for my sweat glands, I would often stroll down Guad (short for Guadalupe) to the Wheatsville Co-op. Much like the Guadalupe Street Co-op at the heart of Jules Wernersbach’s debut novel Work To Do, Wheatsville is a beloved Austin institution, customer-owned, and filled with organic beeswax soaps and fresh produce. But as we know, nostalgia can be a double-edged sword, and this novel pops a bubble on the beauty of “community-centric” businesses.
Work To Do isn’t just a workplace drama; it’s a juicy exploration of romantic trysts, the looming threat of climate change, and the struggle against the capitalist thumb—classic queer experiences, right? Set over one week and told from three perspectives, Wernersbach sets a high bar for themselves, and let me tell you, it pays off. The novel’s structure allows for a richly conceptualized world where the consequences are quick and dirty.
The three central characters—Roz, Eleanor, and Randy—provide a lush examination of the plot from different angles. Roz is the floor manager caught between her employees’ concerns and her own romantic entanglements, including cyber-stalking her ex-wife. Eleanor, the co-op owner since the 80s, reflects on change spurred by a recent breast cancer diagnosis. Then there’s Randy, the dairy manager who’s unionizing while juggling a romance with Molly, Roz’s girlfriend. Throw in a chaotic Texas hurricane threatening to flatten the store before bankruptcy gets a chance, and you’ve got a recipe for drama.
Each character’s perspective shifts from protagonist to antagonist, creating a complex web of relationships. Eleanor may seem like an overbearing boss to Randy and Roz, but through her eyes, we see a woman desperately trying to keep her ex-wife Meg in her life. Roz, meanwhile, is a lapdog desperate for approval, and Randy becomes both a potential ally and a romantic rival. The intense loneliness each character feels anchors them to their goals, and their attempts at connection with coworkers and each other’s lovers are palpable.
What’s fascinating is how the co-op symbolizes their need for love and community. You can’t just slap the word “community” on a store that underpays its workers and call it a day. Roz’s desperate appeal to Randy, both in their 50s among college-aged counterparts, highlights this struggle. She touts that obnoxious phrase used by business managers to silence their workers—“we’re a family”—but the difference is that Roz believes it. Or at least, she needs to believe it.
We all want to believe that the coffee shops we frequent treat their baristas with care, that our train operators have homes to return to after shifts, and that our grocery co-op is a true neighborhood hub. Unfortunately, this doesn’t come from just saying it; Roz can’t just claim the co-op is family without taking care of them. Molly can’t claim to love Randy or Roz without actually communicating her feelings. Eleanor can’t play the victim without recognizing the damage she’s caused.
Honesty is a struggle for each character, particularly the disquieting honesty that requires one to acknowledge their faults. Work To Do stands as a manifesto for that honesty. It urges us to put our money where our mouth is—shopping local while recognizing that those who bag our groceries may need more than just our cash; they need our support against the cruelty of shady business practices.
This book is a love letter to Austin, to unions, to queerness, and to found family. It’s a snapshot of a larger world we can all be part of if we put in the work. So, if you’re ready for a read that’s as juicy as it is thought-provoking, grab a copy of Work To Do by Jules Wernersbach, out now.
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